Saturday, October 22, 2011

If I were to sing
I would do so proudly
digesting the sorrowful
seeds
of the people
regurgitating a rebellion
against such an encrypting
thought

I would sing
a tune of a powerful fight
Hoping to create
a rippling chain of change
Save one
save a thousand
Help one
render no ashes
No more ashes-death
only the overwhelming
thought of love
can take you-
sung by a melody
haunted by a rhythm

I would pump an insightful
sound of life
into he deepest bone marrow-
all your insides would sing too-
they'd know the hushed sound
of a dream learning to flourish
through the gift-the joy
of singing

Play my faint-God felt tune
up to God
Deliver it to the masses
Let the angles see my passion
Entice the world to favor
my fervor
and fashion my ration-
al
Hum what I'm about
pretty singer
exude my
message of sound

Inspiration:The idea of your mind jumping from one state to another
Word:Lifted

i. Hectic explosion of an interesting thought
dancing off toward an adventure-turned nightmare
forced back into a dream, see
this is reality-lifted

ii. I sometimes think of troubling thoughts,
nothing whimsical, sometimes imaginative-
I'm troubled-it shows-
I'm low in two senses of the word,
relatively and emotionally,
So I, Get

iii. Lifted
I'm off into an only here, tangible idea,
where you can't draw sense from things,
but I can
I can do anything-and most importantly
believe it,
when I'm-Lifted

iv. Soaring down-downwards
outward-outburst
lost,
but for-real this time,
shining dully, lack of luster
Flustered, scrappy, no shine
No polish-
Put, some makeup on
Paint, your face on
Be pretty now
because, pretty girls
don't, get

v. LIFTED-dicted-not addicted
it's not that style
only leaves you smiles
no rims of bleach trails
or tracks of run down lines-vines
Just lifted, thinking maybe,
even sleeping-best you ever had
naw never sad up there- Just lifted

vi. Down now-
but still a quiet still
simple.
But necessary.
All manic thoughts
come to a monstrous halt
but I, we, you, me-one really
are no longer lifted
just chillin'
in our melancholy existence
trying to determine
whether or not
to be, or not to be,
lifted...

I just want to hide
behind brick walls and Tarot cards
to dim my reality
so lonely-I'm phony
lost sense of what I've done
or who I be

Couldn't see me
Can't you heal me?
Help me! Free Me!

Devote your ears to learn
of my demoted tongue
and of all the hurt it's sung
about to empty crowds and
withering massess-
truth is I can't talk to anyone
I can't find anyone
I don't see no one who knows me
who loves me
because I love so freely
eagerly pouring out my all
always suffering from a windfall
of nothingness of not even remorse
just a dry ringed out notion
that simply means that I'm the only one
wrong enough
to care about me

My broken
's so broken
I'm lost in the moment
trying to withhold the last of me
the last of the pieces that show a slight
resemblance to my soul,
but who knows
I'm lost, its lost ya know?

So now I lay brokenly
openly, down
for all to see,
because I'm too split-shattered
to gather the rest of these broken pieces
and try to rebuild me

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Inspiration: One of those relationships your in that only benefits the other person
Word: Vile

[Prelude]
The pivotal point in my acceptance for you
occurred when I sought respect
and you returned to me a distended
vile look, that expressed no appreciation
for my generosity

[Part One]
I was cool, as were you
but I sensed a competition within our energy
I felt tension with my familiarity, with my
uncontrollable love ability.

[Part Two]

I held back, I knew you couldn't handle-nor wanted to

my tendency to dwell in a sweetest exuding a realness

that would overwhelm you.

So I never let you in, but you did fully, (foolishly)

You tried to pull me into your tide of futile

foul play. Your head had gone astray,

but you were cool with it,

you had to, you had no you, you didn't know you-

You left the you you had to be bad-

pierced up tatted up legs swinggin' bad-

Ass with no thunder, head with no wonder

swaddled up in a arms with no luster.

[Part Three]
You began to lean on me, need me-
and I accepted that
but rejected it really
I hadn't known love
you hadn't stability
so the result was an undesirable dream team
I couldn't derive at an ending
you wouldn't let go of the beginning-

[Part Four]

Then the day came

in which you asked for more of myself

that I was willing to give

Your idolization of yourself

had restricted me from living

because my being was backed into a corner

in which only God could see, but he kept me

truly from hurting you, like I wanted to do

Every bloodline in my body couldn't stand you

You had ran through, my spirt, and done away with it

you elasticated my heart, until it no long meant anything

[Conclusion]
Well I recreated me
and it had no you in it
I respelled my name
and ridded myself of shame
I took all of you and parted it up
so you would become to me
just as broken as you always looked

Thursday, October 6, 2011

So this is my, "I'm sorry poem"
this is the poem,
in which I'm expected to
apologize, recognize,
and express regret for
unusual but necessary activity
that resides, dives, and will not die
within me.

This is the poem in which,
I ramble
and gamble,
my morality-my person-
in an effective (not really) effort
to reserve a friendship, an (acquaintanceship really)
that I may have with you.

Well listen
You, one is expected to become them,
then enjoy and develop a since of standards,
and once you decided my standard didn't fit your norm
you preceded to enlightened me-
with the upright notion, that it was my right,
(my duty really) to praise upon you and apology, an "I'm Sowry."

Well I'm sincerely sorry
because my lips can't touch
and my tongue can't twist
to form such absolute bullshit

But real with it,
I don't apologize
and I won't objectify my realness
my il-ness, to provoke a you that is satisfied-
gratified with my deprecation into a still functioning creator
that has no will to be nonlinear

Create an effervescent
elapse of thought
and distend it onto
the mountains of a shattered body-
Broken from the heavy arm
and reflecting apart,
from stomached lifelessness
forced by a living bulging from the lifeless

Inspiration: Continuing a thought I had on "What the Water gave Her"
Word: Gruesome.

The scene was gruesome.
And to be feared.
But the serenity
and acceptance of the lost
created an unnatural peace.
-One could acquire
-solitude-
Through an eyesight of a lifetime
of strife.
Only once the grift
is flushed
and the remanence remembered-
Can One
Be. Delivered.

Inspiration: So I was sitting in my bathtub thinking about Frida Kahlo's painting "What the Water Gave Her" check it out http://venetianred.net/2008/12/10/frida-kahlo-what-the-water-gave-her/
Word: Fear

There was no fear here.
Just a bottomless watery grave-
stuffed with demons,
and lined with lies.

There was no fear here,
because the premiss of it has been erased,
and it's remains had been accepted.

A body sat swaddled-
being delivered only by the heavy wave
of water unsealing the sealed,
that lied between each crease.

Unleashing the death and disease-
that riddled the corpse.

As the water stood, the story unraveled.

Murky blue crust developed-
from the pulse of a disgusting heap of happenings-
That quickened with every breath,
rippling down to a crimson red bed-
where disaster was.
Where death loved...

Where all done was done
and where the past had erected-
into a translucent ghost
seeping from the eyelids of the seen
and becoming the being
that stood ungracefully still
in the water of an forlorn
livelihood.

Well Hi Friends

I love the lord, I acknowledge the devil, I’m not fond of war, and I am a hypocrite. I love a nice glass of wine and to watch incense burn. I live to wear breezy dresses and to write away my pain through poetry.